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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24659413">To Say Goodbye</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepyLarik/pseuds/SleepyLarik'>SleepyLarik</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action, Angst, Family, Gen, Goodbyes, Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:21:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,775</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24659413</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepyLarik/pseuds/SleepyLarik</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason says goodbye. </p><p>This time, it may truly be final.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jason Todd &amp; Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake &amp; Dick Grayson &amp; Jason Todd &amp; Bruce Wayne &amp; Damian Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>123</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. It's So Hard</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey, everyone. This primarily takes place after Batman and Robin Vol 2 #20, but I'll be deviating from canon here. Hope you stay for the ride, and enjoy it anyway!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There are times when Jason wakes up from a dreamless sleep, and goes about his daily routine without any hiccup. </p><p>This was not one of those times.</p><p><em>"I think you should </em>smile <em>more," </em>the Joker said as he delivered a particularly vicious backhand with the crowbar across Jason's shoulder. Blood was dripping from his mouth, and he knew it wasn't a good sign that there was no way to differentiate if it was the result of internal bleeding, or if he'd bitten through his bottom lip. <em>It's probably both, </em>he thought. The Joker raised the crowbar, and Jason closed his eyes, expecting another lightning bolt of pain to course through his body, and-</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>He opened his eyes, and found himself in Park Row. <em>Crime Alley. </em>Even without his sight, he could smell the rotten garbage, the rat shit, hobo piss, and nauseating Persian food from Mr. Bizhan's deli (<em>"Authentic!" </em>the neon sign advertised; it wasn't), and knew without a doubt that it was his Home. Yeah, he'd lived in an apartment with Catherine on the same street, and he'd lived a relatively pleasant three years at Wayne Manor (not that he was going to admit that to anyone from the Bat Family), but the alley itself was his one true home. It was where he'd tried to jack the tires off of the Batmobile. </p><p>"And I woulda gotten away with it, too, if it wasn't for that meddling Bat-" he trailed off as he saw the Caped Crusader himself appear from a darkened corner. <em>It's Park Row. </em>Every <em>corner is dark, and dreary, </em>he pointed out mentally. But he knew this Batman wasn't real. He never felt angry towards Batman in his dreams. Never feared him. In his dreams, those were the only times that he knew Bru- Batman couldn't hurt him. This Batman could never disappoint him. </p><p>
  <em>And you can't disappoint him, either.</em>
</p><p>He watched Batman slide into the Batmobile, and he prepared himself for his surroundings to change, but only heard a single beep. He looked down at his hand, and saw a trigger clutched in his gloved right hand. Eyes widening, he looked up, and shouted, "Bruce, don't-"</p><p>The Batmobile exploded before his very eyes, and-</p><p>Jason woke up.</p><p>Three Days Later</p><p>Jason massaged the back of his neck, mentally vowing never to fly Economy again. <em>Not that I gotta worry about that anymore. </em>"Jeez, you look like you been through Hell," someone said from behind him. He knew who it was, of course - Jason never would have <em>allowed </em>him to stand behind him if he didn't know with absolute certainty that the man posed no threat. He looked over his shoulder at the balding, somewhat heavyset middle aged man wearing a Hawaiian shirt. He was seat 5J. Jason was 10F. Call him paranoid, but whatever.</p><p>He gave one of his best polite smiles - some teeth, but not too much that he looked like a serial killer. <em>I much prefer the term </em>Indiscriminate Killer<em>.</em></p><p><em>"</em>You got that right," he said gruffly. "Took a red-eye outta Adis Ababa, eight hour layover at Heathrow, another two hour layover at Newark, and that shitty one hour flight to Gotham we just went through."</p><p>The man laughed, and Jason decided that he was glad he didn't just brush this guy off. He seemed nice, although he'd never understand people's need to chat to strangers while doing something menial like wait for luggage. "If that ain't Hell, I don't know what is."</p><p>This time, his smile came slower, but it was no less calculated. "Yeah, neither do I," he said as he reached down the conveyor belt, and grabbed his duffel bag. He breezed through the rest of the checkpoints, got a rental car under one of his aliases, Jack O'Todd, and sped down the open road leading into the city of Gotham. Even from a distance, the Gotham skyline looked dark, and storm clouds gathered near the highest peaks, as if God was getting ready to send down a storm to bring it all down. Above every other skyscraper in Gotham, however, loomed Wayne Enterprises HQ. It was so tall that it seemed to reach past the clouds above, and into the stratosphere beyond. </p><p>It reminded him of the Tower of Babel, and it brought a smile to his face as he pictured Barb, Dickie, Replacement, Bat Brat, and Batgirl and Black Bat - he couldn't remember which was which - all being trapped in that building with no way to communicate with each other. Well, Cass would still be able to understand, but even with the power of speech, the girl still had problems conveying her point. </p><p>And Bruce?</p><p>Jason reached out, and handed over a hundred dollar bill to the toll booth attendant, who rolled her eyes and began preparing the change. She'd lifted the gate, though, so Jason sped away without getting the change. As he neared his destination, he wondered about Bruce's role in the Tower of Babel once again.</p><p>The clouds now hovered ominously above him as well, and he heard the rumble of thunder even through the din of ambient music emanating from the radio. </p><p>Jason smiled - his first real one since his flight out of Ethiopia. <em>Bruce would be God. </em>It's the only role that would give him enough control over people. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. And when that foghorn blows</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Alfred has a routine.</p><p>It's interrupted.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>7:45 AM.</p><p>That was the absolute latest that Alfred allowed himself to stay in bed, and truth be told, it was only due to Master Bruce's insistence that he take more time to rest to compensate for his old age. Despite giving one of his most scolding looks to date, Master Bruce was undeterred, and so Alfred had to adjust his routine. It was a minor inconvenience at first, but as time had passed, he'd adjusted. That was what Alfred did, after all. He adjusted.</p><p>He had his bed made, tended to his ablutions, and was working on breakfast before the Wayne grandfather clock chimed 8 AM. The previous night's patrol had been particularly grueling for Master Bruce and Master Damian, and both Waynes had slunk off to their respective bedrooms without much disagreement with Alfred. Master Damian had only been returned to them six months ago, so Alfred was reluctant to see the young boy back to fighting in the streets of Gotham already, but just like his Father, he was stubborn. He was shaken out of his silent reverie when Alfred the Cat jumped onto the counter beside the stove pit. Alfred quickly shoo'd his namesake, and glared at the creature as the cat in question stared up at him. There was an intelligence in his eyes, and he seemed to be trying to say something, but Alfred couldn't figure out what it was.</p><p>Shrugging his shoulders, Alfred turned off the stove, and pulled out a bench from beneath the kitchen island, and placed his typical Thursday morning breakfast in front of him. Two poached eggs, very lightly burnt toast, and a cup of Earl Grey tea. It wasn't his favorite type of tea, but that was his Thursday routine, and so he stuck with it. He sipped it as he began to plan what he would cook for Master Bruce and Master Damian's breakfast. Despite his best attempts, the young Waynes seemed to dislike having a predictable routine. Master Bruce would certainly never say so, but his son, on the other hand, had been much less guarded with his words in the beginning. </p><p>He was once again disrupted from his thoughts by Alfred the Cat's scratch on his leather loafers. It wasn't hard enough to make a permanent mark on the leather, but it was certainly enough for Alfred to notice. He prepared a chiding comment, but the cat leapt away towards the kitchen door before a word could so much as leave his lips. The cat looked imperiously over his shoulder, and Alfred understood it meant that he wanted to be followed. With a silent huff, Alfred finished the last of his breakfast, tea, and set the dirty dishes in the sink. He followed the cat up the grand staircase of the Manor, through the winding hallways, until the cat in question finally stopped at the one door that Alfred couldn't open without his heart breaking all over again.</p><p>"No," he said, steel in his voice. The cat had finally pushed the limits of propriety, and Alfred would suffer its tomfoolery any further. <em>The fact that I've humored this cat </em>this <em>far is already...</em></p><p>But his mental commentary trailed off when he realized that the door was already partially open. It wasn't enough for Alfred to actually see into the room, but he saw a light shining through the small crack. His blood ran cold, and almost like he wasn't in control of himself anymore, he reached out to push the door fully open. He sighed - out loud - when he saw that the room was unoccupied, and that nothing seemed to have been disturbed at all. There wasn't a speck of dust out of place, which is to say that there <em>wasn't </em>a single speck of dust at all. Alfred walked into the room, and shut the door behind him before taking a deep breath. </p><p>"I love what you've done with the place," said a voice that was so heartbreakingly familiar that Alfred could have sworn his own heart stopped from shock. </p><p>"Master Jason?" he said, turning around to find that Jason standing beside the door. </p><p>The boy - no, the <em>man </em>smiled at him, and it was like the years disappeared. Alfred suddenly remembered teaching him how to bake cookies, leaving the kitchen to answer the ringing telephone with strict instructions for Master Jason not to eat the cookie dough... only to return and find the boy stuffing his face with the forbidden cookie dough. He'd smiled the exact same way, all those years ago. </p><p>"Hey there, Alfie," he said, and before Alfred could even blink, he was enveloped into a hug by Master Jason, whom he hadn't seen in almost eight months. "It's been a minute."</p><p>Alfred gingerly returned the hug, and looked up at Master Jason after the hug was finished, and saw that the smile had faded into something sadder. There was pain in his eyes. </p><p>"I believe it's been <em>more </em>than a minute, Master Jason," he said gently. </p><p>Jason huffed out a laugh, and moved past the old Butler to sit at the edge of his childhood bed. With his custom made combat boots firmly planted into the rug, Jason leaned back until his whole upper body was laying on the bed. He covered his eyes with his right forearm, and for the first time, Alfred noticed that he didn't have that awful mask with him. It should have brought him comfort, but he felt dread settle into the pit of stomach. "It has, hasn't it? It really has..."</p><p>"Master Jason, is something wrong?"</p><p>For a whole minute, Jason didn't reply. In the dead silence of the room, Alfred could only hear his own heartbeat, and the heavy, rhythmic breathing of Jason. His chest moved up and down, and no matter how much time had passed, Alfred could never believe that he'd returned from the dead. </p><p>"Hey, Alfie. Do you think for one moment, you can drop the Master shit?"</p><p>"You've asked me that several times, and I-"</p><p>"-Just... for once, call me Jason. Call me Jason, and treat me like the fucked up grandson you always worried about."</p><p>Alfred felt like he'd been shot. As someone who'd been shot twice during the course of an actual war, he knew people liked to exaggerate those sorts of things, but his breath rushed out, and the shock felt overwhelming for a moment. "Yes... Yes, of course. Jason." </p><p>Momentarily mollified, Jason finally removed his arm from his face, and he sat up on the bed, and gave that same sad smile. "Thank you. Thank you, Grandpa," Jason said. He'd called Alfred Grandpa several times before, of course, but this was perhaps the first time that it held no trace of any sarcasm or derision. It was sincere. Unbidden, he felt his eyes begin to water. </p><p>"Jason, what's wrong? You can tell me anything. I won't tell your Father-"</p><p>"Grandpa, stop. He's not my Father. You are my family, and that - that will never change. I'm sorry that I haven't made that clear 'till now... But, <em>Bruce </em>isn't my Father. Not now, not ever."</p><p>"Jason, I know how you feel about him, but-"</p><p>"That's the thing. I have always - <em>always - </em>loved him as a Dad. Even when I hated him, he was my Dad. But, this wasn't my choice. It was his. He decided that I wasn't his son, and that's all right now. It's all right."</p><p>"What makes you think-"</p><p>"Grandpa. Please. It's fine. Let's not talk about him, eh? Tell me about your day. Tell me about your night. Tell me about anything at all. Let's just - for one moment - pretend our lives haven't been royally <em>fucked </em>by him. Okay?"</p><p>His mouth pursed into a thin line, Alfred acquiesced with a single nod. Jason's shoulders relaxed immediately, and so, Alfred began talking about everything, and nothing at all.</p><p>And at the end of it, Jason smiled his first genuine smile since the start of the conversation, and enveloped the old man into a hug once again. This time, the butler returned it in full force, and smiled when he realized that Jason's chest was shaking from laughter. Jason ended the hug, and looked Alfred - his one and only Grandfather - in the eye, and said, "Goodbye, Gramps."</p><p>Jason was out the window before the clock chimed 9 AM. </p><p>***</p><p>That day was the first day in a long time that Master Bruce and Master Damian of Wayne Manor woke up, and found that there wasn't any breakfast awaiting them in the dining room, nor the kitchen counter. Only dirty dishes left in the sink. </p><p>That day, Bruce Wayne and his youngest son ate leftovers for breakfast, and though the Master of the Manor didn't voice it aloud, he wondered: <em>What happened to Alfred?</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Defunct the pistol that you pay for</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Between Jason and Bruce's showdown in Ethiopia and his return to Gotham, eight months have passed. What did he do in that time?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first thing that Jason did after getting the fuck away from Ethiopia, Bruce, and <em>everything </em>was find a scumbag. Scratch that. A <em>group </em>of scumbags. He'd just settled into a safe house - it was a studio apartment with dim, flickering lights - and immediately went out into the dark streets of Boston. With a prestigious college like Harvard at its very heart, Boston had lots of drunk, young people loitering through the streets at all times of the night, which meant that <em>dealers </em>were never far away. </p><p>Hood's eyes narrowed, and his helmet's interface immediately magnified his vision so that he was able to see a dealer hand a brown paper bag full of drugs (he assumed) to some college student before the aforementioned dealer did his best to disappear into a complex network of alleys. Well, complex for <em>him</em>, and maybe a shitty cop. But for Red Hood? Please. He may have gotten killed on the job, but it was definitely not because he couldn't keep track of some two-bit piece of shit dealer. He tracked the dealer with ease, jumping from rooftop to rooftop without a single sound.</p><p><em>"Don't let them hear you, unless you </em>want <em>them to hear you," </em>Bruce - no, Batman - said in his head. Jason sometimes wondered if the voices he heard were the result of his rude resurrection, his dip in the Pit, or even the earlier brain damage he suffered from the Joker's beating. He never had the time to figure it out. Hood stopped, and crouched behind the ledge of a building as he watched the scumbag dealer waltz right into their base of operations. Even if he hadn't stumbled on the drug dealer, they would've been nabbed and busted by even the most incompetent policeman. You didn't need to go to Harvard or be raised by Batman to figure it out. </p><p>The building in question seemed to be right on the precipice of being too dilapidated for the city <em>not </em>to condemn. Hell, if it was based on the number of boarded up windows, lack of light emanating from the apartments with <em>actual </em>windows, and the fact that there was a full-on hobo fire burning in a trash can near the front door, Hood would've guessed it was <em>already </em>condemned. But, he knew better. He'd seen way worse in Park Row. His home.</p><p>He shook his head minutely to get his head into the game. He couldn't afford to get trapped in a trip down memory lane inside his head while he was trying to bust a drug operation. Jason took a deep breath, and cleared his mind as best he could. In the months after his dip in the Pit, his mind had been plunged in literal madness. The memories and the voices and reality seemed to meld together until he couldn't think straight. Even years later, he still had to make a conscious effort not to let the Pit madness take control, and while it worked for the most part, he had another problem. </p><p>
  <em>"I trained you better than that! C'mon! Get up! Hit me!" </em>
  <em>Bruce said, his cowl no longer covering the rage, the grief - and most troubling - the cruelty in his eyes. </em>
</p><p>Instead of taking his mind off of it, however, Hood embraced it. For the first time since leaving that godforsaken Valley behind, he smiled.</p><p>****</p><p>He never understood the term 'going in, guns blazing' until he died, and found his identity as the Red Hood. Nowadays, he still tried to approach things with a bit of caution, a bit of wisdom, and just a bit of flair. He was a hothead, but he wasn't suicidal. <em>Well...</em></p><p>Tonight was different, though. He wasn't in the mood for caution, or <em>mercy. </em>Tonight, his guns would blaze, and the world would burn. Hood burst through the window of the apartment where he knew the dealers - five of them - would be. His boots crashing through the two-by-fours covering the window felt like paper to him as he swung through, and landed in a roll. Immediately, he threw one of his throwing knives across the room, and heard the satisfying <em>thunk </em>as it found its mark in the throat of some asshole. The remaining four dealers finally sprung to attention, but instead of trying to kill him like any self-respecting criminal, <em>they ran</em>. Fucking cowards.</p><p>Hood unholstered his gun, and shot the one nearest to the door in the back of each knee. His screams were louder than the sound of a gunshot in an enclosed space, and his smile grew even wider beneath his mask. The maiming of their 'friend' seemed to be the thing that convinced them he needed to be killed. <em>Good.</em></p><p>The nearest dealer to him turned around, and swung one of the sloppiest, <em>slowest </em>right hook in the world. Hood had no supernatural power to speak of, but he felt like The Flash as he sidestepped it, grabbed the wrist in one hand, and delivered an open-palm strike on the man's elbow, breaking his arm <em>inwards</em>. Unfortunately, he merely screamed before fainting from shock. <em>Jesus, are these actual criminals?</em></p><p>With three down for the count, and the last two trying to circle him, Hood felt <em>empty</em>. They were no challenge, and he didn't feel powerful. He still felt like that <em>idiot, </em>thinking that his Dad had actually wanted his help. Wanted him by his side. </p><p>
  <em>"I was ready to stand by your side, and you've thrown it all away!" he'd screamed, wrapping his hands around Bruce's neck, even though he knew it was literally impossible to strangle him through the thick armored padding of the Batman suit. </em>
</p><p>Hood sighed, and even through the voice modulator in his helmet, he sounded tired. The runner by the door with his knees blown out had passed out in a pool of his own blood at this point. The last two men standing were skinny, untrained, and afraid. They were nothing to him. They weren't his real opponent. </p><p>
  <em>"You can give me the greatest gift of all, and help me figure out how to get my son back!" </em>
</p><p>"Greatest gift, huh?" he said to himself, holstering his gun, and shaking his head ruefully. He walked to the door, not even finding amusement as the two drug dealers <em>jumped </em>out of his way. He didn't even care if they tried to shoot him in the back. Hood walked over the body in front of the door, and left. He didn't look back, just like he didn't look back as he left Bruce in the desert.</p><p><em>Greatest gift, </em>the Second Son thought one last time. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Comment if you dig it! :)</p><p>Next chapter will be from the perspective of another Bat Fam member!</p><p>(And yes, that means that Jason returned to Ethiopia before going back to Gotham to say goodbye. Find out why by reading the upcoming chapters)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Find a one who could turn you on</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Stephanie has a life. </p><p>Well, two lives, technically. </p><p>She hates it when the two lives collide.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Being a full time student at Gotham University kept her busy. Volunteering at Doc Thompkins' clinic thrice a week kept her even busier. But, patrolling almost every night as Batgirl, and fighting insane meta-humans? Well, her plate was full, to say the least, which is what she kept reminding herself as she woke up with her face stuck to a textbook for the nth time. Steph couldn't even remember what she'd been studying, but she was sure it was something terribly boring. </p><p>Robbins Pathologic Basis of Disease. <em>Ah, yes. A real page-turner, </em>she thought with a roll of her eyes. Steph flipped to the previous chapter, correctly assuming that she hadn't processed <em>anything </em>she'd read right before passing out. It was already 4 AM, and she had an 8 AM Microbiology class to prepare for, but did the Riddler care? Of course he didn't. He just had to include her in his stupid fucking riddles, and he even had the gall to accuse of her cheating when she figured out the riddles "too fast." She looked at the <em>Easy Book of Riddles </em>in her bookshelf, and gave a shrug to absolutely no one.</p><p>"Rough night?" </p><p>Steph had twisted around the chair with a batarang held up in the air before she even blinked, and even with her shock at having an intruder in her dorm room, it didn't compare to her surprise at seeing the source of the question.</p><p>"<em>Hood?</em>" she asked. </p><p>"Hey there, Blondie," the man in question said. He was sitting on her bed, his back against the wall, arms folded behind his head, and-</p><p>"Get your fucking boots off my bed!" Steph shrieked. She was glad that she still had the Batarang clutched in her hand, ready to throw it at him for his unsanitary behavior.</p><p>"Relax, it's over the comforter."</p><p>"I don't know where you've been! There's probably mud all over your shoes, and-"</p><p>Hood waved away all of her complaints, but he acquiesced anyways, turning around until he had both feet on her cheap, carpeted floor. Steph angled her lamp so she could see him better, and though his eyes narrowed a fraction, he made no comment. Unlike usual, he didn't have his trademark helmet, or even a red domino mask over his eyes. His hair was long and spiky, and his square jaw had a fresh five o'clock shadow, but other than that, he looked so much like Bruce that it was scary. Even the way his broad shoulders were tensed, and his hands steepled in front of him reminded her of Bruce. <em>But since I value my life very much, I won't be pointing that out to the homicidal maniac.</em></p><p>"What're you reading there, Blondie?" Jason finally asked, though he kept his eyes trained ahead of him on a blank spot on the adjacent wall.</p><p>"Uh, a textbook about diseases."</p><p>"Huh, did you get tired of the same ol' Hemingway shit in school, then? I thought you were an English major," he said.</p><p>Steph didn't know what to react to first - the fact that he knew she'd been an English major, or that he still hadn't given any indication for why he'd broken into her room. "Uh, I was, but um. I don't know. You probably won't be interested."</p><p>At this, Hood finally looked at her, and her heart started racing against her ribcage at the sight of his sharp green eyes. It looked like the eye of a green whirlpool to her. "Tell me."</p><p>Clearing her throat, Steph replied, "Well, you probably don't know, but awhile ago-"</p><p>"Blondie, just get to the point, I'm gettin' tired of following the line," he said gruffly, which reminded her that he was a convicted murderer, and she shouldn't be conversing with him so comfortably. She knew that him and Bruce had an uneasy truce, but considering she herself wasn't on the best terms with Bruce, she didn't want to assume that his professional courtesy to his <em>adoptive father </em>extended to her, the unwanted Batgirl.</p><p>"Black Mask tortured me. I survived, because of Doc Thompkins, but I... I wanted to do what she did for me. But for others. You know?" she said, already kicking herself for showing an ounce of vulnerability to Red Hood.</p><p>But he didn't laugh. Instead, he gave a short nod. "I know. I respect that. Most people... ah, fuck, not most people... I didn't do that. I was broken, and I stayed that way all these years, I guess."</p><p>"You're not broken," Steph said, surprising both of them with her earnestness. Hood looked at her, but didn't react. He just stared back at her, while she started to look away to avoid any feeling of awkwardness.</p><p>"You deserve it, you know."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"The mask. The name. You deserve to be Batgirl," he said.</p><p>Steph snorted in response. "What joke is this? Everyone knows that Barbara and Cass were so much better. Even <em>I </em>admit that I'm not <em>half </em>the Batgirl that they were."</p><p>Hood shook his head before standing up, and Steph would be lying if she said that her body's alarms didn't start blaring like a siren. She didn't leave her chair, though, and waited until he walked over and stood so close to her that she had to crane her neck up to look at him. Her neck screamed in pain, but she didn't say anything. </p><p>"The first time I met Barb, she told me I would never be as good as Dick. As the Joker was killing me, he kept telling me that Batman wouldn't miss me anyways - that I was never as good as Dick."</p><p>She opened her mouth to interrupt, but he silenced her with a glare. Her mouth dried at the sheer rage she could see in his eyes, but what stopped her was the sorrow that was mixed in with the volatile emotion he was most known for.</p><p>"And I believed them. I believe 'em even now, actually. Didn't matter if you, Batman, or fuck, the Joker tells me that they take it back. But I was Robin. I was Bruce's son, or at least I thought I was. Batgirl was never about being the sidekick to Batman. Batgirl was about seeing something wrong, and tryna fix it. Barb did it, even though her Dad was Comish. Cass did it for - God knows what - but it's probably because she wanted to do something good to work off some misplaced guilt."</p><p><em>Bullseye, </em>she thought.</p><p>"And you. The daughter of fucking Cluemaster. Daughter of an addict. Lived in a shithole in East End all her life. And you made a costume out of some Halloween materials-"</p><p>"Hey!"</p><p>"-and you went out to <em>spoil </em>your Old Man's plans. I knew my Dad was a crook, and I never did that. I don't know if Bruce could, either. So, no. You ain't as good with computers as Barb, and you will <em>never </em>be as good at martial arts as Cass - neither will I, if I'm honest - but that's all right. Because you're the Batgirl who came back from the dead, and went against Bruce just to make a difference. That's fucking good enough, if you ask me."</p><p>A stillness settled into the room as Hood finished speaking, and if Stephanie couldn't feel her heart against her chest, she'd wonder if it had stopped completely from shock. She didn't know what to say, and it seemed like for Hood - no, <em>Jason </em>- that was just okay. He turned around, and started walking to her door.</p><p>"Why did you say all of that?" she asked. She hated how timid her voice sounded, but she was proud that she'd managed to say anything at all.</p><p>Jason didn't stop until he reached the door, twisted the knob, and pushed it open, letting a shaft of the hallway's bright light into the otherwise dark room. She covered her eyes, but still managed to make out his dark silhouette.</p><p>"Someone had to, Stephanie," he said before shutting the door behind him. She listened for his footsteps, but she knew without a doubt that she wouldn't be able to hear it, because he would have been trained not to leave a sound. She was stuck trying to wrap her head around what he'd said, and it took her a whole five minutes to realize that he'd called her by her first name for the first time ever.</p><p>****</p><p>Steph did make it to her 8 AM Microbiology class, but she was thirty minutes late. She'd had to make a phone call to someone she suspected would know all about why Jason Todd would make an unexpected visit to her dorm room of all places. </p><p>She missed a pop quiz as a result. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope you guys like the chapter! Next chapter will be from Jason's perspective after the events of Boston.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Cry agony, cry agony</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jason finds out Scarecrow is in town. </p><p>He decides to do something about it.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Getting out of Boston was the first thing on his To-Do List. There was nothing for him there. He could maim, cripple, or kill as many dealers as he could in Boston, but it didn't calm the rage within him. It encompassed every fibre of his being in a way that killing drug dealers could no longer assuage. There was only one fix for it, and Jason couldn't get it. He wouldn't let himself. </p><p>With nothing better to do, Jason went on a road trip across the United States of America. He was a regular All-American tourist. The only thing missing was an ungrateful family, a fucked up winnebago, and a mortgage on a townhouse in the suburbs of Anywhere, Fucksville. He nursed his coffee, barely feeling the burn as it spread through his fingers, through his lips, and down his throat. He embraced the warmth. Autumn in Philadelphia wasn't as cold as Gotham during the month of January, but it was cold enough, considering he only had a T-shirt and jeans. He could've worn his leather jacket, but the only way he'd be wearing that was if he had business to do. </p><p>And as far as he was concerned, that wasn't on his To-Do List. Not for now.</p><p>Jason looked through the window of the diner, and watched the people walking past him. That's what he did mostly, during this impromptu road trip. He'd been in Philly for a week already, and he spent every day since his arrival just watching people from the same booth in the same diner. He didn't know what he was looking for. He didn't even know what he was doing in Philly of all places, but there was something he needed to do. He just didn't know what it was, yet. </p><p>The bustle in the diner faded until he felt like he was alone on a rooftop in Park Row, just watching the whores and homeless kids go about their business. Red Hood would help them, of course. That was what he did. He helped people. <em>No one thinks that, though.</em></p><p>As with every other day since he started people-watching from the diner, he found himself absentmindedly stroking his red helmet through the duffel bag he kept on the side. It comforted him. It made him feel safe. On his ninth day in Philly, Jason finished his last cup of coffee, and made the decision to take the first bus out of the city. Goodbye, Pennsylvania. </p><p>But it was when he was taking some crumpled bills from his pocket that he noticed a familiar face walking through the crowd outside. Well, not walking - looming. Jason was tall (<em>Only an inch shorter than </em>him<em>), </em>and while this man wasn't taller than him, everything about him was <em>tall</em>. His arms were longer than average, his neck was so long and thin that his Adam's apple bulged like it would for a peacock. <em>You're shitting me.</em></p><p>Jason dropped two hundred dollar bills, and darted out the diner with his duffel bag before he could lose sight of the man. He kept his head high, and walked normally. He didn't keep his eyes trained on the guy's back, because it would alert some leftover primordial senses that he was being followed. No, Jason was too well trained to make rookie mistakes. He stayed a discrete distance, but wasn't afraid to overtake some, and be overtaken by others. The trick to tailing was to simply walk in the same direction, and keep the target in your periphery. It was harder to do, but hey, no one ever said Jason's job was easy.</p><p><em>"Because it would be</em> too <em>easy."</em></p><p>Well, except for one person in particular. But fuck him. </p><p>It took thirty minutes of tracking, but Jason allowed himself a sigh of relief when his target entered a swanky apartment building. There was still a chance that this wasn’t his base of operations, but this particular scumbag wasn’t exactly Deathstroke in his attention to detail. Well, at least not in regards to safe houses.</p><p>This still begged the question: What the fuck was <em>Scarecrow </em>doing in Philly? </p><p> </p><p>****</p><p>Hood checked the time display in his helmet’s retina screen, and smirked when he saw it was five minutes till midnight. Perfect for him. Bad for Dr. Crane. He checked that all of his weapons were locked and loaded for the nth time, tested the sharpness of a few of his favorite knives, and finally took aim with his grappling hook, and fired.</p><p>Swinging into a window of a 7th floor apartment wasn’t exactly inconspicuous, but he deserved an A for effort, right? The glass crashed under his steel tipped boots, and damn, it sure sounded like music. Scarecrow was sitting on the couch as Hood landed into a shoulder roll, but by the time he got up, the wily villain had already released a gas canister of his classic fear toxic. <em>Now </em>this <em>is the response I was looking for in Boston.</em></p><p>But the good doctor would have to try something better than that if he wanted any chance of stopping Hood. His mask easily filtered the toxics, making him immune to the toxin’s effects, and credit where credit is due, Scarecrow realized it faster than he expected. The Doctor of Fear retrieved a gun from the coffee table even as the gas was still circulating in front of him, and fired off some shots in Hood’s general direction. The bullets whizzed by harmlessly - he didn’t even have to dodge. This guy may have had a couple of degrees, and a few rounds done in Arkham as a doctor <em>and </em>as a patient, but he definitely never had any training with a gun. </p><p>Hood did.</p><p>Hood whipped out his own .45 and capped the lanky bastard in his kneecaps. The screaming was loud - louder than the sound of the gunshots, somehow. And Hood smiled. He walked through the smoke without a care in the world, vaulting himself over the couch until he was sitting comfortably while Scarecrow was still screaming in pain on the ground. </p><p>He was trying to staunch the bleeding as best he could, but that wasn’t the real problem. Sure, blood loss was a concern, but the real damage had been done already. Even if he would ever walk again, he wouldn’t be doing it with a whole lot of gusto. </p><p>“I gotta say, Crane, I love what you’ve done with the place,” Hood said as he waved the gun around his head. He made it seem effortless, but Hood always made sure to switch the safety on when he held a gun near his head. <em>Gun safety is a priority, kids.</em></p><p>”O-ugh-fuc-fuckfuckfuck! This <em>hurts</em>!” Scarecrow screeched. Or Jonathan Crane. Right now, he wasn’t a villain from Gotham. He was just a scumbag with fucked up knees in Philly. It was crazy how much of an equalizer a bullet could be. Or two bullets, in this case.</p><p>Hood leaned forward until his elbows were on his knees, and the gun was aimed haphazardly at the bleeding man. The guy was always gaunt and lanky, but even in a bloody heap on the ground, Crane seemed like he was too gangly and long. His limbs were flailing around in his pain, snot dribbled out his long noise, and his ears seemed cartoonishly big because his hair was too plastered with sweat to cover them. He looked pitiful with all the crying. </p><p>“It sure looks like it hurts. Want me to put you outta your misery then?” He cocked his gun, switching the safety off.</p><p>”No! Fuck! Please, God - No!” Crane said, using his uninjured arms to shield his head. It wouldn’t do anything to stop a hollow point bullet from a .45 at a distance of only two feet, but hey, it was the thought that counts. “W-what - fuck - what do you want?” </p><p>The good doctor managed to stop the bleeding, or he was about to run out. Either way, he seemed to be calm enough to actually talk.</p><p>”I wanna know what you’re doing in the City of Brotherly Love, Doc. I wanna know if you got any more of that pesky fear gas of yers for this city’s good people. I wanna know if I need to put a bullet through that giant forehead of yours for you to stop whimpering like a fucking coward!” Hood said, raising his voice with each sentence in order to make a point. </p><p>Judging by the way Crane flinched at the end of each sentence, it worked.</p><p>”I - I’m not doing anything! I swear! You can tell Batman that-“</p><p>”Don’t fucking mention that bastard to me!” Jason screamed, standing to his full height, and watching his shadow swallow the whimpering man up like he was nothing. </p><p>“O-okay! I-I’m sorry! Fuck, don’t kill me! Please. I swear I’m not doing anything! I just - I just wanted a break...”</p><p>”A likely story. I got about a hundred more bullets, and I now how to avoid all of the important bits, Crane. Try the truth this time, and I’ll-“</p><p>”It was Ghul! It was al’Ghul! I swear it! Pl-please!” </p><p>Hood’s blood ran cold. Ghul. The family responsible for making him the way he was. The Pit. </p><p>“What does Ra’s have to do with Philly? What is he planning?” </p><p>“I-I don’t know! He wired me enough money to sustain my research for two whole years, and told me to wait here in Philly. He’s the one who got me this apartment! I- I...” Crane trailed off as the blood loss and pain clearly became too much. The light faded in Crane’s eyes as he fainted.</p><p>”Don’t - fuck!” Jason said, as he crouched down in the pool of blood, and tried to wake the man up with a few slaps to the face. When that didn’t work, he checked the wounds again, and did some basic first aid to staunch the bleeding. He’d somehow missed the left kneecap, and had actually shot him just above it. His left leg would never feel the same, but it wasn’t <em>that </em>bad. It also explained the bleeding, since Jason didn’t really see this much blood loss from a few kneecap shots.</p><p>Not that he stayed around to play nurse.</p><p>He checked the scumbag’s heart, and felt mildly satisfied that he was still alive.</p><p>He looked around the nice apartment, the broken glass, the blood, the unconscious villain, and the .45 shells on the ground. </p><p>
  <em>What now? </em>
</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Times Like These</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Of all the things that Tim was expecting at 9 in the morning during an uncharacteristically sunny day in Gotham, a phone call from his ex-girlfriend was not one of them. In fact, a phone call from his ex about his <em>sort of </em>adopted brother - who tried to kill him a few times - was probably the last on the list. Steph had actually left over fifty texts, and several voicemails during the night for him, but he'd been a bit wrapped up with a nice little encounter with Killer Croc at the time. Steph never really overstepped these boundaries, but despite his seeming avoidance, she still kept calling him until he finally answered at 9 AM sharp - just in time for him to start his day at Wayne Enterprises.</p><p>"He what?" Tim said as he gave a curt nod to his assistant before shutting the door behind him, and activating the privacy controls of his office with a mere wave of his hand. </p><p>"He called me by my <em>name</em>, Tim," she repeated.</p><p>"Whoa. That's big."</p><p>"I know!" she shrieked as he settled into his leather chair, and started his desktop. Of course, he didn't keep any pertinent information on his computer at work, but he still outfitted it with top-of-the-line firewalls, and he still had access to every investigative database known to mankind. Even the secret ones. He quickly typed all of his adoptive brother's known aliases, and cross-referenced it with any incidents in the past year or so since he'd last encountered him.</p><p>"I don't know, Tim. I think something is wrong. I think... I think he was saying goodbye," Steph said, her voice cracking in that familiar way that indicated she was probably holding back tears. A small, petty part of Tim wanted to point out that Jason had tried to kill him, but he didn't voice it. It wasn't the smart thing to do, and if there was one thing he was known for, it was for always doing the smart thing.</p><p>"I wouldn't worry about it, Steph. I'm sure he's probably shook up over some random-" he trailed off as he heard a knock on his door, and before he even had a chance to acknowledge it, Jason strode into the room. Tim's alertness skyrocketed to a hundred as he realized his assistant was gone from his desk in front of the office, and Jason seemed to be dressed in one of his classic Red Hood outfits - black leather jacket, boots, and a kevlar vest. The only thing missing was the red bat insignia, which was definitely not a good sign. </p><p>Jason whistled. "Sheesh, cozy place you got here, Timmy," he said, looking up at the skylight suspended 20 feet above him. Although Bruce and Lucius remained in control over Wayne Enterprises, Tim had been given the best office. It was the only office on the 60th floor, and instead of having a ceiling, it was encased completely in glass. The entire floor would have been incased in glass, in fact, had it not been for the need for a helipad for landings. </p><p>"It does the job," he said, even as he removed a small batarang with a tiny amount of C4 attached to it from underneath his desk. </p><p>"That batarang better have some explosives attached to it, or I'm going to seriously doubt your skills, Replacement," Jason said with his gaze still focused on everywhere except Tim's own glare.</p><p>"Nothing but the best for my older brother," Tim replied.</p><p>Finally, Jason <em>deigned </em>him with a look in the eye, and he delivered a lopsided smirk. "I guess I deserve that, huh."</p><p>"You deserve a lot of things, Jason."</p><p>"That I do, Replacement. That I do," Jason said as he took one of the leather seats in front of Tim's desk, still the image of complete nonchalance. As the best tactician in the family, Tim was honest enough to admit that Jason would win a direct one-on-one fight nine times out of ten. He was not only bigger, but he was quite frankly just more skilled, and far stronger and faster. Even Bruce and Dick had trouble with fighting him - simultaneously at that. There was no way that Tim was going to win, unless he maintained the element of surprise, as well as technological superiority. Fortunately, he was in his home territory. His office had more failsafe security measures than even the Watchtower. </p><p>"Steph called," he said.</p><p>"I figured she would, so I decided to make you my next pit stop." Again that lopsided smirk made an appearance, and maybe it was because Tim had encountered him when he was fresh out the Lazarus Pit, but there was still that same madness in his eyes, as well as some other undefinable things. Tim didn't like it. </p><p>"What are you doing, Jason?" </p><p>"I'm here to do something that I should have done a long time ago," he said, as Tim tensed his body to prepare for an attack of some sort. "I'm sorry, Tim. You didn't deserve the things I did. My anger. My... grief. You didn't deserve any of that."</p><p>A breath rushed out of him, completely unbidden, and his eyes widened in disbelief. "What?"</p><p>"I've known for a long time that you didn't deserve the shit I pulled. Maybe it was the Pit madness, but... To be honest? I probably would have done all of it even without that... that green vision. That rage within? I had that before Bruce picked me up off the street," Jason said, huffing out a laugh devoid of humor. "I guess I'm trying to say that I'm tired of blaming the Pit for everything. It may have made me crazy, but the things I did to you? That was all me, Tim. All of it. And you didn't deserve it."</p><p>For once, Tim didn't worry about the <em>best </em>or most strategic response. Instead, he said, "Why are you doing this?"</p><p>For the first time since he came into the office, Jason smiled without a hint of mockery, but it was tinged with sadness. "You're a smart kid, Tim. You already know."</p><p>And perhaps for the first time since he became Robin - and later Red Robin - Tim had nothing to say. Even as Jason said goodbye before exiting the office from whence he came, he was speechless. He probably would have remained mute for the rest of the day, if it wasn't for the continued beeping emanating from his computer. </p><p>Slowly, his eyes came to focus, and he realized his search on the databases finally finished, and he started to read exactly what his adoptive brother had been up to in the recent months. </p>
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